


Ouroboros

by Magestorrow



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud, Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/F, F/M, M/M, because someone needs to have them interact, but the one i'm writing anyways, the crossover alternate universe no one ever asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 10:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14162991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magestorrow/pseuds/Magestorrow
Summary: In another world, magic is what fuels the actions of its people. It is what drives them to become just rulers or courageous heroes. It is what fosters the avarice in the hearts of many. Magic is the life force that all are grateful for.But in modern day London, magic is nothing more than a fairy tale. Magic exists only in stories and distant memories, something that has long since been forgotten. Its occupants go about their lives without ever knowing of the magic that once was their life force. The world of Earth has grown to forget its origins.Then all of that changes.What could only be described as portals suddenly appear in the old city. And the seven teenagers they appear before choose to go through it. They end up in a world that is better suited towards fiction than reality. If they're going to survive in this strange new world, they're going to need to work together. But with secrets and magic running amok, will they be able to move past their differences?





	Ouroboros

**Chapter 1**

It was a dark and stormy night.

He assumed it was night, anyways. It was a bit hard to tell with the black clouds covering the sky. Being in the middle of a mysterious desert certainly didn't help. Sand seemed to stretch on for an indeterminable distance. No matter what direction he looked in, he was greeted by sand. He had never been in a desert before, but found to this to be a far from an enjoyable experience. There was nothing quite like being caked in gritty, irritating sand.

He had been wandering this desert for what felt like an eternity. It had only been a few minutes, but the sand had even gotten into his watch and he had always been terrible at keeping time without it. He could still see that strange black slit if he glanced behind him. But even if he couldn't find a place to wait out the storm, he wouldn't return. He had made the decision to go through that thing and he would stay wherever he was until he got his answers.

Small droplets of rain began to prick at his skin. In the distance, he could hear ominous rolls of thunder. Wonderful. If he didn't die from dehydration out here, he'd die from getting hit by a lighting bolt. He searched the horizon once more. There had to be _something_ that he could rely on. It didn't need to be special. Maybe just a little hut, or a secret tomb of some sort. He liked the sound of that last one. Hanging out in a crypt, surrounded by ancient stuff that Percy would have loved? It was a dream come true.

But, unfortunately, all that he got was an impressive palace jutting out from the darkness. 

The thing looked like it was somewhat intact. A couple pillars here and there appeared to have be broken by the rough winds of the barren desert, but it was mostly standing. At least it was a place to wait out the storm. He moved the strap of his bag so it wasn't digging into his neck, and began to hurry on towards it. The rain began to fall in thick torrents. The drizzle had been irritating; this was infuriating. The rain droplets were slamming into his bare skin with a strength he had never experienced before. As the storm worsened, it became more and more difficult to make out the shape of the palace. He grit his teeth and kept going in the direction he knew it had to be in. Increasingly loud rolls of thunder accompanied his journey. He absentmindedly tried to guess how close it was, but it was the sight of the lightning striking the area where that slit had been that made him hurry even faster. He ran towards the shelter of the palace.

And then he finally reached it.

It towered above him. Three stories high, maybe four. From the state of its exterior, he doubted it was inhabited. But he'd be cautious. With no idea of where he was or what kind of people lived in this place, he couldn't take risks. Not yet, at least. He needed to know what he was dealing with. 

He opened one of the enormous doors and slipped inside. 

Much like a dog, he shook the beads of water free from his hair in a desperate attempt to dry it. It stubbornly stayed matted to his head. Giving a groan of frustration, he roughed it up with his hands. He had an image to maintain, even if no one here had met him before. He peered into the hallway. It seemed to be made of sandstone, intricately carved with fanciful designs. Candles lined the walls. He watched their unsteady lights as the wind howled outside the palace.

In a single, fluid motion, he withdrew a switchblade from the depths of his jacket and spun around to direct it at the person sneaking up on him. A blade was thrust from the darkness. It was longer than his own, and they enjoyed the comfort of being able to hide in the shadows. He squinted into the darkness. He could just barely make out the form of someone tall and lanky.

The tip of the sword poked his chest. “Who are you?”

“Why should I tell you?” he answered. The sword was shaking, but he kept a firm grip on his knife. He took a step forward. The rapier bent up in response. If it had been an actual sword and not a fencing foil, he might have been a bit more cautious. “Seeing that I'm the one with the sharper blade, how about you answer _my_ questions?”

Blue eyes peered at him from the shadows. They were calculating, yet also oddly familiar. He took another step forward. The owner of the rapier took a step back. They continued this for a good minute before he had succeeded in his goal; in an attempt to get away from the switchblade, his mysterious attacker had stepped out into the light of the candles.

“Anthony,” he said. 

He flicked his switchblade shut.

“Lockwood,” the boy corrected.

“Anthony,” he repeated, this time with a little smirk for good measure. He was secretly fuming – this was meant to be _his_ escape, his chance to discover what had happened to Percy. Even having _John_ here would have been better than Anthony Lockwood. But he kept the smirk up and waited for some sort of recognition on the other boy's part.

The foil was lowered. “Bart?” he questioned, brow furrowing in confusion as he looked him over. He opened his mouth to protest the name, but Lockwood cut him off before he could even begin. “Is this where you were yesterday?”

“No,” he answered. He strode past his captain in quick, silent footsteps. Lockwood easily kept up with him. They walked in silence. He should have been leaving everything behind; in a convoluted way, that had been part of the reason of why he had been so eager to leave. 

He finally found what he was looking for: a candle, slipping just enough out of its holder on the wall for him to pry it free. His flashlight's batteries needed to be conserved at all costs. Though the light failed to envelop the hallway in its entirety, it gave him a clear view of where he was going. That was a start. 

“We needed you at the meet yesterday,” Lockwood finally said. When Bartimaeus glanced over at the taller boy, he saw that he was looking away. He understood what he was trying to do, and, frankly, was having none of it. His life was more than a fencing team. Lockwood would never understand what he had been through. Even if he tried to explain his actions, he knew Lockwood would offer false words of condolences.

They always did.

“I was preoccupied with something,” he answered. He studied the dirt underneath the fingernails of his free hand. “I'm sure you won even without my much needed help, Tony – Fittes hasn't been anything since Kipps graduated.”

Lockwood kept a neutral expression. “We lost, actually.”

He shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. That's life.”

A hand grabbed onto his shoulder. He spun around and directed a glare at the boy behind him; he didn't appreciate the invasion of his private space. But the glare faltered when he saw the look on Lockwood's face. He had gone a step too far. He knew Lockwood would get mad at some point, but he had hoped it would take just a little longer.

“We _needed_ you,” he said, “and you left us. You knew how invested we were in that meet! Even if everyone else lost to them, you and I could have saved our team by winning against our opponents. We're a team, Bart. That's what you signed up for when you joined last year.”

Thunder boomed overhead.

The light of the candle flickered. Something about the shadows cast on his face must have made Lockwood pause; he eagerly took the opportunity to cut him off. The air begun them had begun to warm with a suffocating heat as Bartimaeus deepened his glare. “It was only a team for you, Anthony. I was only there for the fight.” 

Lockwood readied his foil. Bartimaeus grabbed his knife. He knew that the words hadn't been what he had wanted to hear, but he never thought that he would respond with violence. He would easily win in a battle between the two. Their fencing matches were nothing like the real world, and he was the one with the actual blade.

But then he heard someone approaching.

He opened the blade of his knife and held it out.

“Would someone _please_ tell me what's going on?” the newcomer said, dressed in one of the finest black suits that Bartimaeus had ever seen. He was perhaps only a little shorter than Lockwood, which, due to Lockwood being quite tall, was an accomplishment. Yet he managed to look even more suave and mature than the boy beside Bartimaeus. His dark hair was shaved, but he ran a hand through it – almost as if he was used to having more hair there. 

“Who are you?” Lockwood asked.

The man narrowed his piercing dark eyes. “You're Anthony Lockwood,” he surmised, “fencing captain at our school. Then who is-Bartimaeus!?”

It couldn't be him, could it? Where was his greasy mane? Where was the gawky, emo teenager he had become so accustomed to? This man – no, boy – couldn't possibly be him!

“John Underwood!?”

He nodded.

“Well, fu-”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter! It's a rewritten version of my fanfictions Rogue and Enhance. Rogue focused solely on the Bartimaeus characters, while Enhance focused on the Lockwood and Co. characters. Rather than wait for a third installment I knew I never would write, I decided to have them meet at the beginning of it. So here's Ouroboros - a story set in a world quite unlike our own, where magic is commonplace and visitors from other worlds are things of legends. I hope you enjoy what I have in store for the protagonists of this fic.


End file.
